Roadtrip
by bethamphetamine
Summary: Spike and Lynda are on the road during their American vacation and take a wrong turn into an AU where Lynda discovers hidden talent and Spike learns he's not the only one.
1. Chapter 1

"I knew I should have bought a GPS!"

"Stop overreacting," said Lynda. "Shut up, keep driving and let me concentrate on this map."

"SIR, YES, SIR!" Spike shouted, clamping his hands over the wheel and sitting bolt upright in the driver's seat. They had been driving through the state of California for some time and darkness was approaching.

"For someone so allegedly rebellious," Lynda remarked, "you do seem to be conditioned to respond like a good little soldier."

"You love it," replied Spike, relaxing back into his normal lowrider driving position. "You'd have made a good drill sergeant. Discipline and shouting, right up your alley. Why didn't you follow your Dad into the military?"

"And be allowed that kind of access to high-grade weaponry? I'd never have passed the pysch exam," Lynda replied, in a rare display of self-deprecation.

"Touché, Ms Day," grinned Spike. "Right, it's approaching 1900 hours. What say we recce a place to bivouac for the night?"

"English, please, Spike. Or at least, as close as you can get."

"Let's find a Motel 6."

Lynda peered at the map. "Well, keep going along the blue line and we should get somewhere eventually."

"Oh, that's encouraging," Spike replied. "You'd never have made a navigator." Then he paused. "Wait a minute, the blue line?"

"Yeah, the thick one. That's the motorway we're on."

Spike exhaled slowly, indicated and pulled over onto the side of the road.

"What's happening?" Lynda asked, puzzled.

Spike flicked on the overhead light. "Will you please follow the blue line along the map until you see a name?"

Lynda traced the line with her finger. "Yes. Right here. Colorado . . . . River." She looked up at Spike with as close an expression of guilt as she could muster. "Wouldn't be Colorado River Highway, by any chance?"

"No chance," said Spike, taking the map and spreading it over the wheel. "What was the name of the last town we went through?"

"Clipstone," replied Lynda promptly.

"Clipstone. Okay . . ." Spike poured over the index. "Doesn't seem to be on here . . . how big was it?"

"Or Clipsal."

"Lynda . . ."

"Clipton, maybe?"

"Lynda! You had the map. You forcibly took control of navigation, remember? I still have the paper cut!"

"You're from here! You should know where you're going!"

"The state of California is bigger than the whole of England, Lynda. Give me a break!"

"Greenstick or compound fracture?" replied Lynda, without missing a beat.

"Urgh!" Spike facepalmed. "That was practically an own goal."

"It was pretty easy," Lynda agreed.

"So what are we going to do?" Spike said. "You can't read a map – I can, but you can't drive . . ."

"I can drive."

"What?"

"I said," said Lynda slowly, as if explaining to a three-year old, "I can drive."

"Since when?"

"Since I was sixteen."

"Lynda, I've known you since you were sixteen and you've never ever once mentioned in the history of our entire relationship that you can drive."

"You never asked."

"Right. Next you'll be telling me you're The Stig!"

"The what?"

"Ah, forget it. I don't believe you, anyway."

Lynda blinked, innocently. "Spike, you should know by now. I'm always full of surprises."

"Ain't that the truth," Spike muttered. "Okay, then, Miss Indy. Show me what you got."

"What, now?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Because it's left-hand drive."

"So?"

"So I've never driven left-hand drive, as I suspect you realise."

"So?" repeated Spike, opening his door and getting out. He walked around to her side of the car and opened her door. "After all, you're full of surprises, remember?"

"Fine," huffed Lynda. "If you insist."

She slid out of the car and walked around to the driver's side.

"Let me help you adjust the driving position," said Spike, politely. "I'll just bring the seat forward a little . . ."

Lynda batted him away. "It's not like I'll need to come that far forward. Go and sit in the passenger seat."

Spike grinned and did as he was told.

"Right," Lynda said to herself. "Mirrors . . . seatbelt . . ."

"Cabin crew, arm doors and cross check," added Spike, helpfully.

"Shut up, Thomson. Just let me get my bearings." She frowned at the steering column.

"The ignition key is on that side, if you're interested."

"I said, shut up!" Lynda turned the key, shifted gear and gently crawled forward a few metres before stopping.

"Too much excitement for you?" Spike asked, sarcastically. "Or is old age is slowing you down?"

Lynda suddenly slammed the car into gear and stamped her foot on the accelerator, sending the wheels spinning in the loose gravel on the side of the road. The car fishtailed back onto the bitumen, tyres screaming.

The screaming continued even when the car had regained a straight line of direction . . . and Spike realised he was the one making the noise.

"Did you do that deliberately?" he asked, once he had composed himself.

"Of course I did," said Lynda. "Are you satisfied now? And take that lecherous look off your face."

Spike stopped mid-smirk. "Hey, don't pre-empt my lechery!"

"I find it saves time!"

"Never mind that. Look, a sign." He squinted to make out the letters. "Welcome to . . . Sunnydale. Enjoy your stay."

"God, that is so American. Fine. Sunnydale, it is."


	2. Chapter 2

"The Downtowner Motel?" Lynda asked, frowning up at the sign.

"It was the best I could do!" Spike protested.

"For the price?"

Spike scoffed. "That's a bit rich – if you'll pardon the pun - coming from someone whose catch-cry is 'What's That In Pounds? My God, That's Obscene!', don't you think?"

Lynda ignored him and banged through the doors, hauling her suitcase behind her.

"Ladies first," Spike muttered. "Then you, Lynda."

"I heard that!"

"You were meant to," he replied. "Come on, let's throw our bags in the room and go and get something to eat. I'm starving."

After dropping their bags off in their room - which Lynda proclaimed "more down-and-out than downtown" - they wandered through the streets, looking for a place to eat.

"Jeez, this town is dead!" Spike complained. "Where's all the fast food chains? Where's Starbucks?"

"There's something lit up over there," Lynda pointed. "The Espresso Pump."

Indeed, the café was brightly lit and looked inviting enough. Lynda peered in through the window.

"They have all old petrol station things in there," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Is that supposed to be trendy?"

"It's a retro gas station motif, Lynda. It won't hurt you."

"Might hurt you though!" Lynda grumbled.

"Just go in."

Later, having eaten, they were walking back through the dark streets to their motel and, once again, arguing over directions.

"It's this way. I know it is."

"Right. Lynda, listen. I'm sure if we just cut down here, we'll come out right next to the place," Spike said confidently.

"Oh, a dark alley. How sensible of you."

"Scared?" Spike grinned. "Lynda Day, scared of the dark? Scared of the boogeyman?"

"Oh, for God's sake, let's just take your stupid shortcut," Lynda stalked off ahead into the alley and Spike high-fived himself mentally as he trotted along behind.

"See? Nothing to . . ." Spike trailed off.

Up ahead, Lynda stopped and sighed before turning around.

"'Nothing to' what?"

"Uh . . ." Spike gulped, staring at the pointy-faced fanged nightmare standing before him, grinning evilly. "Nothing to . . . uh, see here?"

Lynda huffed impatiently, unable to see the face of their new friend. "Just give him a dollar or something and let's go!"

"I, uh . . . think . . ." stammered Spike, "he might be after more than a dollar."

"Well, too bad. We're not made of money," Lynda stomped over to where Spike was standing and faced the interloper head-on. "Ever heard of working for a living?"

"Who's living?" grinned the would-be bum and lunged towards her. Lynda reeled backwards and the beast smirked briefly before suddenly vapourising into a cloud of dust.

"Urgh. Tourists!" came another voice. When the dust cleared, Spike and Lynda were facing a small blonde girl holding a wooden stake and looking faintly annoyed. "What, you guys don't have movies where you come from? What part of 'dark alleys are bad' don't you get?"

Both Spike and Lynda were uncharacteristically lost for words but what happened next was even more surprising. The girl's face suddenly broke into a huge grin and she ran forward and grabbed Spike into a fierce hug.

"Whoa!" Spike wheezed as though the wind had been knocked out of him, "Hey, I'm used to blondes throwing themselves at me . . . but this is ridiculous!"

"Who is she, Spike?" Lynda's face was almost as evil as their former would-be attacker and her arms had locked into the classic Lynda Day Is Not Happy position, as though someone had not just turned into a sandstorm in front of her face.

"I don't know!" Spike gasped. "But I can hardly breathe!"

The girl stepped back from the hug. "Sorry, Spike – just happy to see you!"

Spike looked more closely at the blonde and recognition dawned. "No way! Buffy? Buffy Summers?"

"Yes!" Buffy grinned. "I never thought it would be you showing up."

Spike shook his head in amazement. "Still getting into trouble, then? Some things never change."

"You don't know the half of it," Buffy replied wryly. "I guess you get the full story, seeing as it's kinda hard to pretend you didn't just see a vampire get dusted in front of your face."

"Vampire?" Spike echoed, faintly. "That . . . thing just now . . . was a vampire?"

"Well, it wasn't a Girl Scout, that's for sure," Buffy replied. "Come on, come down to the Magic Box, meet everyone, hear the story, take the tour, buy a souvenir t-shirt. It's all part of the Sunnydale experience."

"You still haven't answered me, Spike," Lynda said, unmoved by talk of vampires and souvenir t-shirts. "Who is she?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, Lynda – this is Buffy. She went to my old high school in LA before I moved over to England. We spent a lot of time in detention together. And Buffy, this is Lynda. My fiancé."

"Nice to meet you," Buffy stuck her hand out.

"And you," Lynda replied coolly, shaking Buffy's hand after a brief yet deliberate pause.

"Follow me," said Buffy after the shake was over. "And stay close!"

They obeyed and followed behind. Lynda was glad of the dark. Buffy had a mighty handshake.


	3. Chapter 3

"Here it is," said Buffy as they stopped in front of a shop in the main street.

"The Magic Box? Sounds kinky. Are my delicate sensibilities going to be offended?" Spike cracked.

Buffy laughed. "You, delicate? What did they do to you over in England?"

"Oh, we haven't even started anything close to torture yet," snapped Lynda.

"I don't know about that," remarked Spike, coyly. "I've certainly spent plenty of time in the Iron Maiden."

Buffy, doing a poor job of hiding her smirk, opened the door and the bell above rang out. Spike and Lynda followed her into the shop, Lynda trying furiously to regain her composure.

"Hey, cool!" Spike's attention was immediately drawn to the curios in the lit cabinets while Lynda's eyes went to the shelves of books on the mezzanine level.

"Buffy? What's going on?" A young, dark-haired and slightly geeky guy was standing on the stairs. "Why aren't you still patrolling?"

"Hey, Xander. Hey guys, this is my friend Spike and his girlfriend, Lindy."

"Lynda," Lynda corrected immediately.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Buffy said. "I'm terrible with names."

"No, you're not," said a brunette behind the counter, hands on hips. "You have an excellent memory for names."

"Thank you, Anya. And that's not Spike," said Xander.

"Yes, it is," replied Buffy.

"No, it's not," countered Xander, patiently.

"Yes, it is," Buffy countered back.

"Excuse me?" Spike interrupted. "If I could just interject – why wouldn't I be me?"

"He's right," Anya piped up. "You're American. And while you are wearing a leather jacket, it's not the right type. Sorry."

"This," said Lynda loudly, "is all too ridiculous. I am going back to that motel. Spike, you can stay and hang out with Betty . . ."

"Buffy," Buffy corrected, playing into the trap.

"Oh, that's right," said Lynda sweetly. "Sorry. I ***really*** am terrible with names."

Buffy cursed inwardly.

"As I was saying," Lynda continued, walking towards the door, "I think I'm just going to . . ."

The door banged open violently and in strode a tall, pale figure with bleached blonde hair, dressed in black with a long leather coat.

"Well, well. Speak of one of the devils," Xander said dryly. "If it isn't Captain Peroxide aka the Real Spike."

The newly-arrived Spike favoured him with a rolling of the eyes before focusing on the other Spike and Lynda.

"Who's this?"

"This is Spike and . . . Lynda," said Buffy.

"No, it's not!" Anya protested. "Well, Lynda might be. I don't know how about her. Though she does look familiar." She came out from behind the counter and stood in front of Lynda. "Have you ever summoned a vengeance demon?"

"What? No!" Lynda protested.

"Are you sure? That does sound like you, Lynda," her fiancé remarked.

"Enough!" Lynda slammed her already throbbing hand on the table. "Listen! Could we all please stop talking in circles and have somebody explain why there are two Spikes, and what the hell do you mean by vampires?" She pointed at Buffy. "I don't care how strong you are, start talking and everyone else shut the hell up."

Pairs of eyebrows were raised around the room except Spike who was used to it and the other Spike, who raised just the one.

"Perhaps, Lynda, I might be of assistance," a new voice offered. A bespectacled man had appeared at the back of the shop. Lynda gasped.

"Mr Giles?"

Xander, Buffy, Anya and blonde Spike all seemed to find this hilarious.

"MR Giles!" Xander hooted.

"It may come as a surprise to hear that some people still respect their elders. And teachers," Giles replied. "I met the indefatigable Miss Day at Norbridge High some years ago. As I recall, she had recently come under fire for printing an independent school magazine."

Lynda nodded. "Damn!"

"Quite," smiled Giles.

"Can you please tell us what's going on, then? All this talk of vampires and demons and whatever else is getting on my nerves. And it's not like we have anywhere to be, seeing as the alternative is soaking up the atmosphere at that flea-bitten motel."

"I'll get the snacks," volunteered Xander. "This bit usually takes a while."

"Feisty, isn't she?" the blonde Spike remarked, lounging insolently against the counter. "Almost a match for you, Slayer."

Buffy responded by swivelling on one foot and bringing her stiletto heel up to Spike's throat. Then, with impeccable control, lowering it to his chest.

"You know about my custom heels, right?" Buffy asked, chirpily. "Wooden inlay. Invaluable slayage potential."

Spile leaned further back on the counter. "Alright, Slayer, you've made your point – if you'll pardon the expression."

"Off!" Anya swatted him away. "There are many valuable breakables in here and you have no money!"


	4. Chapter 4

Spike and Lynda had been treated to what Xander referred to as "Slayer 101" by Giles and Buffy and were currently attempting to digest the information at one of the reading tables.

"You know, it's not so much the vampires and the slaying and the Hellmouth and whatever else that I find hard to believe," said Spike. 'It's the fact that someone else has my name and it's THAT guy!"

"What's the problem?" Lynda asked, sensing an opportunity for winding up. "I think he's very . . . interesting."

Spike snorted! "Interesting! Who does he think he is with his different accent and leather jacket? I'm the guy with the accent and leather jacket!"

Downstairs, at the counter, a very similar conversation was being held.

"Interesting!" Spike scoffed at Anya. "Who does he think he is with my name and a leather jacket? I'm the guy with my name and leather jacket!"

"So, are you guys all okay with everything?" Buffy asked, back at the reading table. "I wish Willow was here. She's so much better at the 'helping to deal' part."

"Oh no, we're fine," said Spike cheerfully. "It was really thorough. I liked the PowerPoint presentation. The pop quiz, not so much."

"That was the best part," argued Lynda. "I got top marks."

"You haven't changed, Spike," Buffy smiled.

"Nor have you, Lynda," remarked Giles.

"What I want to know is why bring us back here and tell us everything?" Lynda asked. "Wouldn't it have been easier to fob us off with some made-up story in the alley, pack us off back to the motel and have us leave the next morning, none the wiser? Why do we get treated to the whole experience?"

Giles looked pleased. "As I say, Lynda, you haven't changed. It is a good question."

"We sort of knew you were coming," said Buffy.

"How?" Spike asked. "We didn't even know ourselves. We were driving around, got a bit lost and decided to stop at the first town we came to. Nothing in it."

"You don't think it's kinda weird that out of all the towns, you pick one where you both know someone?"

"It's a small world after all?" ventured Spike.

"Don't say that!" Anya shouted from below.

"What? What?" Spike looked alarmed. "Is it some kind of magic curse or something?"

"No," said Xander, "Anya's just really susceptible to ear worms. You know, those songs that get stuck in your head?"

"Urgh!" Anya rolled her eyes. "It's in there already. Thanks a lot."

"As I was saying," Giles continued, "We had forewarning of your arrival. Not you specifically, but we had been expecting visitors."

"Long story short," interjected Buffy. "Premonition dream, prophecy, 'The Potential will be delivered to the Hellmouth by one who is known to the Slayer', blah blah blah."

"Woah, woah," Spike raised his hands. "Back it up. No blah blah blah."

"It's really not that interesting," bluffed Buffy.

"Fail," Spike replied.

"Potential what?" Lynda asked.

Buffy looked to Giles for help.

"Well, you see . . ." he began.

"The thing is, the Slayer had a dream where one of her old buddies brought a potential Slayer to the Hellmouth to be delivered as some sort of sacrifice. Isn't that right, Slayer?" Blonde Spike had leapt up to the reading area and now sat on one of the tables. "Never mentioned she'd be a posh piece from the motherland though."

"Watch it, pal!" Spike said curtly. "That's my posh piece you're talking about."

"Shut up, Spike," said Buffy and Lynda together.

"Which one?" both Spikes asked, simultaneously.

"Both of you," the girls replied.

"Jinx!" Anya called.

"Look, we need to sort this name thing out," said American Spike. "And, since I've had it since the early 80s, I think I get first dibs."

Blonde Spike snorted. "Me too. The early 1880s, that is."

The two glared at each other.

"Wait a minute – early 1880s?" Lynda asked.

"Oh yeah. Spike's a vampire. Don't worry, he can't hurt you."

"What, he doesn't bite? Did you put a collar on him or something?" Spike Thomson taunted.

"Something like that," said Xander, mischievously. He was definitely warming to this other Spike. "There's an easy way to resolve this whole name thing too." He pointed at blonde Spike. "We call you William and you - ?"

"James," supplied Lynda. "What a good idea."

"Very civilised," agreed Giles.

"What? No!" protested Spike Thomson.

"Sod off," agreed Spike the Bloody.

"Would you both please stop bickering over something so trivial and get back to me?" Lynda snapped. "What's all this about a sacrifice?"

"It won't happen," said Buffy unconvincingly. "We'll figure something out."

"Oh, how reassuring," said Lynda sarcastically. "Do let me know, won't you? In the meantime, I'll just sit around twiddling my thumbs until you come up with the Grand Plan."

"We should really be testing your Potential," said Giles, thoughtfully. "I have a theory . . ."

Lynda snorted rudely. "Potential. You make me sound like one of Spike's school reports."

"You're not going to do that whole 'sudden flick of the deadly weapon towards her head' thing, are you?" Buffy asked. "So old."

"Errr, no," Giles replied, discreetly replacing the small throwing star in his pocket. "Actually, I was thinking a more practical exam. Why don't you take Lynda out on patrol and test her reflexes?"

"Hey, no way!" American Spike said, angrily. "You can't put her in danger deliberately!"

"Quite the opposite, I think," Giles said. "Lynda's strength has been growing by the minute ever since you've been in Sunnydale."

"He's right," said Buffy. "That friendly handshake before in the alley? It would have broken at least two fingers on anyone normal. I knew when I took your hand that you were the one. Kinda annoying, as I'd already decided not to like you."

"And I thought I was one for snap judgements," said Lynda. "But a handshake doesn't really prove anything - I'm used to a firm grip."

"I'll say," murmured Spike Thomson, winking at Xander.

"Buffy?" Giles invited.

Buffy nodded and without warning, launched herself in a flying kick at Lynda. Spike watched in amazement as his fiancé flipped from the table and brought a chair with her in a sweeping motion, knocking Buffy's feet out from under her.

"Wow!" Lynda gasped, still clutching the chair. "Did I really just do that?"

"You did," said Buffy from the floor. "Well done." Effortlessly, she flicked her legs out and landed back on her feet.

"Encore!" applauded blonde Spike. "I'll never get tired of seeing the Slayer knocked on her arse by another bird."

Both Buffy and Lynda responded with a palm strike that sent Spike flying from the mezzanine level onto his back on the floor.

"Blimey," he muttered. "Women!"


	5. Chapter 5

"But you've gotta give her a weapon at least!" Spike Thomson protested.

"No weapons," said Buffy and Giles in unison.

"What, you're just going to let her walk into danger armed with nothing stronger than that acid tongue of hers?"

"I am still here, you know," Lynda snapped.

"She's not unarmed. She's got skills . . ." Giles began.

"Skills that have only appeared in the last hour," countered Spike.

"But that date back centuries," Giles counter-countered.

"Listen, Spike, I'll be fine. Honestly. Remember when I was doing that undercover investigation work at the Sherrington Arms? I think I dealt with much scarier creatures there than anything Sunnydale has got to offer."

"I won't let anything happen to her, Spike," Buffy said. "Promise."

His protests went unheeded as the girls headed out into the night, the bell on the door ringing behind them.

"I think we should probably go too," Xander said, looking somewhat shifty. "Got stuff to do, you know."

"Yes," nodded Anya vigorously. "We do. Sometimes twice a night."

"Hahaha!" Xander laughed loudly and nervously before dropping his voice to speak to his girlfriend. "Remember the talk we had about knowledge sharing in front of the normals?"

Anya looked puzzled. "I don't understand. I thought all boys wanted to tell other boys how often they - "

Xander brayed again, desperately, as the two Spikes and Giles exchanged amused glances.

"Oh, now I understand - " Anya began.

"I very much doubt that, somehow," Xander interjected, bundling her towards the door. "Understanding is not one of your key areas of expertise. In fact, one might even say that creating an environment of 'not understanding therefore hilarity at the expense of Xander ensues' is a speciality of yours."

Before the former vengeance demon could respond, they too were out of the door.

"That's enough excitement for tonight," Giles said, locking the door behind them.

"Apparently not for those two," Spike Thomson quipped.

"Quite," replied Giles dryly which reminded Spike of Sullivan. He fussily straightened some books on the counter and then returned to the mezzanine area. "So, Spike. While we're waiting for Buffy and Lynda to return, why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?"

"Why, Rupert, I didn't think you cared," replied blond Spike, sarcastically. He lounged back in his chair, hoisting his boot-shod feet onto the table. "Well, the real story takes place in London, England in 1880. You were probably there at the time. Buying tweed."

"As you well realise, I meant the other Spike," replied Giles, flatly.

Blond Spike shrugged. "If you're into that kind of thing. Go ahead . . . James. Tell us a bedtime story."

"Thank you . . . William." Brunette Spike found himself going to adopt the other Spike's relaxed feet-elevated posture out of sheer habit and restrained himself. "I'm from New York originally," he said, settling back in the chair, feet on the floor and sitting up straight.

"I lived in New York for a while in the 70s," blond Spike said, fondly, leaning back even further and clasping his hands behind his head. "You mean the 1970s, yeah?"

"Yeah. We ended up moving to LA just before I started high school – mostly for my mom's career but also they thought the city was getting too dangerous. Y'know, the whole violent crime and murder thing."

Blond Spike nodded, with a nostalgic sigh. "Good times."

Spike Thomson's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait a minute – you're not sayin' . . . ?"

"He is, unfortunately," said Giles, disapprovingly.

"Well, I can't take all the credit," blond Spike replied, modestly.

"Right," Spike considered edging away discreetly but didn't want to look soft. "Where was I? Oh yeah. Two parents – actually, that's not true. More like two angry adults who lived in the same house . . . argumentative Dad, Bitch Mom from Hell, you know how it is."

"Literally," blond Spike murmured. "Well, the 'from Hell' bit was partly my fault. But I was young, how was I supposed to know?"

"What?"

"Ignore him," Giles advised, before Spike the vampire could launch into the tale of siring his own mother. "So presumably you met Buffy while at school in Los Angeles?"

"Yup. In detention, which I know you may find hard to believe."

"Somehow, not really," Giles replied.

"Anyway, we lost touch after I got expelled. Just in time for Mom to get transferred to the UK . . . "

"So you missed the Slayer burning the gym down," said blond Spike. "Unlucky."

"She did?" Spike Thompson chuckled. "No way!"

"How do you know about that?" Giles asked, suspiciously.

"She told – what's it to you, Rupert?" blond Spike looked slightly flustered as though he'd been caught out.

"Nothing," replied Giles, hiding a smirk. "Nothing at all."

Brunette Spike looked hard at his blond counterpart. "I know that look."

"What look?"

"That look."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spike Thompson grinned. "I call it the 'I'd drink her bathwater' look."

Blond Spike scoffed. "The Hellmouth is messing with your pretty head, Little Spike. What part of 'vampire slayer' in her job title is unclear to you? That would be like a pig falling in love with a butcher."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself. And she's a hot blonde kick-ass butcher," said brunette Spike, undaunted. "And I never said, Lynda, if you're listening."

Blond Spike snickered. "There's something on your forehead, mate. Looks like a thumbprint."

Brunette Spike ignored the jibe. "Stranger things have happened."

"You can say that again," muttered Giles. "I need a cup of tea."


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy and Lynda strolled through Sunnydale's over-populated cemetery.

"So," Buffy began awkwardly. "What do you do when you're not visiting the Hellmouth? For work, I mean. I hear that's what regular people do. Have jobs and things."

"Actually, our jobs have something in common. I slash, kill, deal with the brain-dead and stake things on a pointy spike," replied Lynda.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Thought you said you weren't a Slayer?"

"No, I'm an editor. Slash words, kill stories, work with morons called Colin and Frazz and I have this spike on my desk that I stab bits of paper onto. I'm not allowed to drive it through anyone's flesh. We have such ridiculously draconian laws . . ."

"Right," Buffy agreed, not entirely sure if Lynda was joking. The English girl was definitely scarier than some of the demons she had dealt with.

"So what are we looking for?" Lynda stopped and folded her arms with an expectant look on her face. "This place is dead! Pun intended!"

". . . and cue vampires," Buffy replied as two shambling monsters appeared suddenly behind them. "Never fails. It's like they wait for it!"

"What do I do?" asked Lynda, backing away as Buffy began hand-to-hand combat with one of the vampires.

"Whatever comes naturally!" the blonde called back.

"But how?" Lynda yelled back as the unoccupied vampire moved towards her.

"You'll figure it out!"

"Oh, thank you very much," hissed Lynda. "Big help."

The vampire stood in front of her, grinning moronically.

"You can take that stupid look off your face, for a start," Lynda snapped, hands on hips. "If I'm going to be killed, it's not going to be by an undead KD like you. How stupid do you have to be to be a vampire, I wonder? When your brain stopped functioning, how did you tell?"

The vampire was so taken aback, he literally did take that look off his face and briefly reverted to a normal human form before shaking his head, blinking and regaining his vampy visage.

Buffy, meanwhile, had dispatched her vampire and turned to help, only to see Lynda facing an airborne cloud of dust with a pencil in her hand.

"Where did that come from?"

"Secret hiding place," replied Lynda, tucking the pencil back into her hair.

"Nice work," she said. "See, I told you it would come naturally. Meant to be."

"You mean 2B," said Lynda dryly. Buffy frowned.

"That's what I said."

"No, I mean . . ." But Lynda's explanation of her type of pencil lead was interrupted as the two girls were snatched from behind and hauled into a nearby mausoleum by two small but strong demons . A staircase that ran down into the ground was revealed behind a large monument.

"You'd be surprised how often this happens," said Buffy as they were bundled down the stairs. "Everyone does the below-ground thing. I'm sure they have a website. Underground Real Estate Dot Com or something."

The girls were pushed further down the staircase and into a large room where a taller demon was waiting. Lynda was pulled into the centre of the room and made to stand on the stone disc in the middle of the floor, carved with an unknown symbol. Buffy was held at the back by yet more demons. A hush fell over the group as they stood back, transfixed, obviously expecting something spectacular to occur.

After about five minutes of nothing, Lynda spoke up.

"Is something supposed to happen?"

"She's not the one," muttered the tallest. "She's not the Potential!"

Buffy gaped. "She's not?"

"What the hell do you mean, I'm not the one?" Lynda stepped off the stone circle and stormed up to the one who had spoken. "Look, who's in charge here? Clearly there's been some sort of mistake."

"Lynda!" Buffy hissed.

"Trust me. Always go to the top," Lynda threw over her back. "It's the only way to get anything done. This guy is just a receptionist."

The "receptionist" looked slightly affronted. "I've been delegated the responsibility . . ."

"Never mind that," interrupted Lynda bossily. "Get your man down here. Or up here. Whatever it is."

There was a brief conversation before two minions were dispatched. Lynda returned to where Buffy was standing, looking satisfied.

"I'm sure we'll get all this straightened out," she said.

"Let me get this straight. You actually want to be the Potential?" Buffy asked. "Because, you know . . ."

"If I might be of some assistance?" The girls turned to see the boss demon standing behind them. "I'm Sjevloch. Leader of the Cult of Korchez."

"Yes. Hi. Lynda Day, leader of the Phoenix. Now, what's all this nonsense about me not being the Potential?" Lynda asked.

"You were placed on the altar and nothing happened. You're not the One," he replied, shrugging. "I do apologise for the inconvenience." He turned to Buffy and nodded politely. "Slayer."

Buffy returned the nod. "Demon."

"You may release her," instructed Sjevloch to his team mates, who did so.

"Are you sure though? Have you checked the equipment? Your stone disc might be faulty." Lynda persisted.

Sjevloch turned to Buffy with an incredulous look. "Does she realise . . .?"

"I did briefly mention it earlier," replied Buffy.

"Realise what?"

"You were to be sacrificed," replied Sjevloch.

"Sacrificed? How?"

"In the usual definition of the word."

"What, like, killed?" Lynda looked taken aback and rounded on Buffy. "You never said that!"

Buffy held her hands up. "I kinda did . . . back at the Magic Box."

"Me specifically being killed was never mentioned. I think I'd remember," snapped Lynda. "I thought it was all about having potential! Like an award at school or something!"

"Relax! It's not going to happen anyway," Buffy said casually.

"Well, that does still beg the question," Lynda turned back to Sjevloch. "How is it we can fulfil the rest of the prophecy and me still not be the One? Not that I'm looking to fill in," she added hastily. "Now that I know what the job description is."

Sjevloch shrugged. "I'm not really sure myself." He turned to address the other demons who had been talking animatedly amongst themselves. "Guys, any thoughts?"

"Parallel universe is our guess," said the "receptionist". "Or maybe even multiverse."

"Parallel universe?" Lynda repeated. "What do you mean?"

Sjevloch stroked his chin. "Let's see, twenty-first century pop culture references . . . well, did you ever see that episode of Seinfeld where . . ."

"No," said Lynda.

"Oh, I do apologise. You're English? Let's see. Do you remember that episode of Red Dwarf where . . ."

"No," replied Lynda again.

""Doctor Who?" A touch of desperation had crept into his voice. "The Doomsday episode with the Cybermen?"

"I don't watch much television."

"Literature, then?" Sjevloch asked. "Have you read Stephen King's 'Dark Tower' . . ."

"No," said Lynda huffily. Sjevloch looked to his minions for guidance.

"Narnia?"

" Wheel of Time?"

" Discworld?"

Lynda was looking more and more fed-up. "This is completely ridiculous. Can't anyone give me a simple explanation? Is that too much to ask? How hard is it to get good service these days?"

Sjevloch recoiled slightly. The other minions had already been in the process of edging back.

"I think I know where we can get an explanation," Buffy offered. "If, uh, we're allowed to go free."

"By all means, yes," Sjevloch replied hastily. "Please." He turned to the minions. "One of you, show the ladies out."

There was a clear power struggle as to who would be given the task. The rock, paper, scissors game was the final straw for Lynda.

"Enough! Come on, Buffy." She stalked out the way they had been brought in and marched up the stone staircase.

Buffy followed, shaking her head in disbelief.


	7. Chapter 7

"And then they said it could be a parallel universe and started talking all this rubbish about television and silly fiction novels!" Lynda was holding court back at the Magic Box. "I mean, honestly. It just goes to show, stupidity isn't limited to the human world."

Giles looked thoughtful.

"Parallel universe. Yes . . ." he started drawing a table up on a piece of paper with two columns. "Buffy, Lynda. Spike, Spike."

Blond Spike rolled his eyes.

"I see where you're going," said Spike Thompson. "For all the people in your world, there is someone similar in our world. In that case, write down Xander next to Kenny."

Understanding dawned on Lynda. "Why didn't someone say so in the first place? Giles and Sullivan!"

"Have you got a brainy girl-type?" Buffy asked. "To match Willow?"

"Sarah!" Spike and Lynda replied together.

"Self-centred, money-obsessed . . ."

"Colin!" the pair chorused. Giles wrote "Colin" opposite "Anya".

"Precocious kid sister?"

Down went "Tiddler" next to "Dawn".

"What about Tara?" Buffy asked.

"Never mind Tara. What about Frazz?" Lynda asked.

"There can be only one," replied Spike Thompson, solemnly. "Well, let's hope anyway."

"It doesn't quite fit though," said Buffy. "If Giles met Lynda in England, and I knew Spike – American Spike – before I came to Sunnydale . . . how can they be parallel?"

"Spoilsport," said blond Spike. "Haven't you ever heard of a wormhole? A rent in the fabric of space and time? A breach between universes? Some people can travel between them, you know. Don't you ever watch television?" He leaned back in his chair and began whistling. "Ooo-weeee-ooooo . . . weeeeee-oooo . . . now that is a good show. Doctor Who. I've seen every single episode on original transmission. Even the lost ones that the BBC wiped. Prats."

"Really? What were they like?" Giles couldn't help but sound interested. "Can you remember . . ."

"I hate to break up the fan club meeting but where does this all leave us?" Lynda asked. "We go back to Norbridge and I'm punching through walls and sticking pencils in people?"

"Business as usual," brunette Spike quipped.

"I'd be surprised if you remember any of it, to be honest," said Giles. "Sunnydale has a way of disappearing from memory . . . and I have a theory that the further Lynda gets away from here, the less her powers will be. It's probably for the best."

"But we still haven't worked it out!" Lynda protested. "We can't just wrap it up without knowing why we came here and why I wasn't the Potential and, for that matter, who the real Potential is and . . ."

Lynda was still protesting as she was bundled into the car and Spike turned to say his goodbyes.

"Good to see you again, Buffy. Nice to meet you all. Totally weird and off the planet and frankly, I can't wait to get out of this place . . . but nice."

"You too, Spike," replied Buffy.

"It's been a pleasure," added Giles, formally.

"Oh, and good luck with that." Buffy nodded at the irate Lynda who was glaring out of the passenger side window.

"Thanks. Good luck to you," Spike replied.

"What for?" Buffy asked.

"Wasn't talking to you." He winked at blond Spike who rolled his eyes.

Buffy turned, puzzled. "What is he talking about?"

"Good luck for not dying of boredom at this conversation," blond Spike drawled before swaggering off into the night.

"Well, I suppose I should . . ." Spike was cut off by a loud horn honking and turned to face Lynda.

"Yeah, yeah!" He turned back. "Anyway, as I was . . ."

This time, the interruption was a sound of shattering glass. He turned to see a guilty-looking Lynda and broken glass where the passenger window used to be.

"I only tapped on it," she said, meekly.

"Right. That's it; we're getting away from here." Spike jumped into the driver's side and sped out of Sunnydale.

Giles and Buffy watched as the black SUV disappeared from view and started walking back towards the Magic Box.

"Giles?"

"Mmm?"

"You know how you said Lynda's powers would diminish the further she got from Sunnydale?"

"Mmm."

"You were totally lying. She's got it for life, hasn't she?"

Giles coughed. "Err, well . . ."

"Shall we just say 'Mmm'?"

"Mmm!"

*Press Gang theme*

"Grr. Argg."


End file.
